The Himbo Chronicles
by Freesourceful
Summary: A must-read compilation for Cailan fans who like shiny, shiny golden armor. Includes the very short and suggestive ramblings of King Cailan Theirin's campaign against The Blight. COMPLETE
1. Prologue

_**Prologue**_

_The following passages were copied from a blood-drenched volume found in the ruins of The Battle of Ostagar. Though smoke-damaged and much the worse for wear, the fine leather covering of the book proved stronger than the forces of the Blight, and the gold painted embroidering overrunning the cover has lent much-disputed clues as to the author of the work._

_Naysayers decry it as a forgery meant to undermine and desecrate the memory of our fallen. Others claim that it is an accurate representation of our former king, and have argued that it is further proof of a need for change and revolution in the administration. The threat of Civil Wars hangs over us heavier than the fear of Blight. I myself have no interest in entering this vipers' nest of politics. _

_As archivist, my role is merely to preserve, not to interpret. I leave the tools of truth recorded here for the reader to decide. Should any future scholar prove the lineage of such a vacuous work, they are more than welcome to attempt its inclusion in the royal annals of history._

_-- Brother Yalltier Esrevni, Denerim Chantry, 9:30 Dragon_


	2. The Himbo Diaries

_**The Himbo Chronicles: **_

**The Very Short Records of King Cailan Theirin's Most Excellent and Glorious Campaign Diary  
**  
Day 1: Glory Awaits!

Surveyed the fields of battle-to-be in anticipation of my impending victory. I am certain that the bards will soon have tales to tell reveling in my feats to rival the most decorated epics of old. This is my age of glory, come upon me at last! I always knew I was meant to do Great Things. The blacksmith delivered my new armor set by courier wagon this morning. An excellent portent of triumphant things to come. Gold does so very suit me! It compliments my hair and complexion well. I shall be a stirring sight to my men upon the battlefronts of Ostagar. May the Maker rain blessings upon us. These leather chaps have turned out to be a marvelous fit. I can see the firm shape of my buttocks moving like a mabari pride in heat. So shall my enemies fear my fierceness in dread battle.

Day 6: Rising Anticipation

I cannot wait to join in the sweat and labor, the heated grunts of erupting battle! My heart burns with the longing of anticipation. Such great deeds, such songs and legacies to come! My sword, pale and erect, thrust deep into the Darkspawn's beating heart! I can see it now, quivering in the light of day, a beacon to my devoted men, a light in this darkness, this Blight. The realm will echo with resounding joy upon my hard-earned victory. But, till then, I must wait, anticipation crawling upon my neck like a lover's invitation, my skin and body tingling with anticipation. Yes, such a glorious day in battle it will be, to be me.

Day 10: Harder and Harder

Duncan has sent word that he will be arriving here at Ostagar within a day. He's brought along a new Grey Warden recruit, I hear, and from the Circle of Magi, no less. I am honored to play host to a Joining in our very camp. I had petitioned the good fellow to allow me into their exalted ranks as well, but Duncan, the old fox, insists that my place is here, as king and leader of my people. He warns that I would not enjoy the lonely vigil of the wardens. Naturally, I disagree. After all, with my surplus of natural talents and arsenal of skills, I could be an indispensable asset to their organisation, and a force of change for the better. But there you have it. The old hound will not budge from his position, and Loghain, the old war dog, agrees with him. Both think that I am overconfident in my estimations, but what king does not think the best for himself and his people? And who would blame me? Such stories that my father told me of the Grey Wardens! I cannot wait to fight alongside their very best, to stem the tide of encroaching evil. A warrior king in their midst, filled with love of his people, and the blessings of the Maker. My eagerness for the upcoming battle is fast outpacing my desire for drink or sleep, and it is only with great effort that I am even able to swallow the salty gruel my army's keepers force upon my palate. The tension constricts within my throat, filling my mouth with only words for battle and combat. Such excitement I have never felt before in my life! Was this what it was like for my father to grasp the Shaft of Destiny within his hand, and through sheer force of will, bring the throb of glory to such a rapturous and explosive end?

Day 11: Climatic Action

I met Duncan upon the road to Ostagar, shortly after the sun reached the pinnacle of the sky. Such an expression on his face! It was worth all the berating Loghain gave me afterward for evading the eyes of my personal guard to greet him. Duncan looked harried, but the old stoneface would never admit it. Too much duty, that one, although I supposed I should not be one to talk! The little elfin mage beside him seemed lost between the trees. New blood out of the tower, no doubt? She is such a small, scrawny thing, pale and helpless-looking, much like the nug that the dwarves once sent us as a wedding gift. If such as this could join the Grey Wardens, could not I? But nevermind. I am sure that Duncan knows his job far better than I, and I will abide by his decision.

Day 12: Post-Battle Satisfaction

Alas, the battle has not yet begun. But it is with great confidence that I expect to write word of my victory here upon the coming dawn. As yet, premonitions of the battle keep me awake and unrequited. Certain doubts tease at the peripherals of my mind. What if we don't win? What is the Archdemon never shows? I can only pray to the Maker to light my way. My love for legends is vast and unbridled, but how many unsung heroes fell early and were never recorded? Here, in the privacy of my own tent, I must admit: it is not all glory and battle in my thoughts. I enter the arena of combat tomorrow, not just for the people of Ferelden, but also for those dear and near. My uncles, my friends, my fellow soldiers and my beloved Anora. Her sense of duty and fidelity are sources of great inspiration in the darkness. I cannot think, honestly, how I would have gotten here without her. And so it is for such fine things that I must fight, and we will win. There is simply no other recourse. To battle, and glory, for history awaits!  
_  
__(The remaining pages of the volume were found blank and soaked with blood. The author at this point, it seems, met an untimely end upon the death's crimson fields. May the Maker's heart see fit to grant compassion for his soul.) _


	3. Shoe Crack

_Following in the vein of the "Himbo Chronicles," yet more King Cailan Crack Fiction._

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**Shoe Crack****  
**  
King Cailan was -- no, it would be unfair to say that he was a shoe fetishist. That would be akin to calling a shepherd a bugger or an elf a shit-eater just because one had a penchant to... appreciate something. It did not necessarily mean a lifelong and devoted commitment. Why, even an elf couldn't possibly survive off sludge as mere sustenance! That, Cailan was fairly sure, was true.

But these were a very nice pair of shoes. That was also true.

He couldn't help the little gasp that escaped. Beauty deserved to be adored. Longing spread like a lady's legs from his open mouth and wrapped itself around the leathery finery. The sparkle on each of the spurs sparkled just right. The gleam gleamed with lascivious light. He was not aware that his hands were twitching rhythmically in anticipation of slipping the smooth, tightly cured skin around his appendages. Hands moved to caress the phantom sheath, rolling over its curves, pinching, widening, gently guiding it ever upwards towards his firmly muscled legs.

Cailan took a long gulp and nearly coughed, overtaken with the awareness that his mouth had been hanging open for some time. A feverish feeling was rushing towards his head. The back of his throat felt sore and dusty, as if from long, impassioned use. "Bad" said the studs on the left foot. "Ass" said the studs on the right boot. He barely managed to croak to the cobbler:

"I'll take it." 

**End.**


End file.
